


Liar, Liar, Pants Undergoing Spontaneous Combustion

by deltachye



Category: The Martian - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert, Romance, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 14:59:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9825518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltachye/pseuds/deltachye
Summary: [reader x mark watney]You were having a pretty bad day, because not only were you a pumpkin eater, your pants were on fire, and the love of your life was dead on Mars. This is fine.[response to "7 Lies' challenge by Murder-chan]





	1. Chapter 1: "I Don't Mind"

* * *

 

“Hey, listen to this. How well do you think I could grow… _watermelons_ on Mars?”

You ignored him, typing up your report with frenzied fingers as he watched you, fiddling with the Newton’s cradle on your desk. It was getting increasingly difficult to tune out the little _ticks_ the tiny silver balls made, and you froze for a mere second, wondering if entertaining him would be a good idea.

“Due to the complete lack of water on Mars, I believe that your _water_ melons would turn out very poorly.”

You continued, pushing each key deliberately so that it clacked loudly, as if he’d care enough to pick up on your cue.

“No, see. If I grew them in the Hab, they’d be fine. Yeah, it’d probably be a big waste of water, but think about it. Mark’s Martian Melons! That’d be fucking _sick_!” He got excited at his own alliteration and beamed at you. You saw him grin at you in the corner of your eye, and as before, you ignored him shamelessly.

“Watney, don’t you have better things to do than ask me about your marketing strategy? Last I recalled, your degrees weren’t in business.”

“Probably. But hey, I’m spending my time with you. _You_ should be happy.” Another smile. This time, you stopped, hitting the enter key and doing a quick ctrl-s before looking at him tiredly. You hadn’t slept in—what, 23 hours? 24?—and was starting to get irritable with your boyfriend’s behaviour.

“You’re flying to _Mars_ soon, Mark. You’re just wasting your time by sitting your ass down here, procrastinating. Don’t you have pre-flight tests? Psychology tests?”

He finally frowned, stopping the clattering Newton’s cradle with his pinky. “Do you not _want_ me around?”

“No, that’s not what I…” you rubbed your eyes. “I’m just saying that I want you to be prepared and all for takeoff. You leave next month, right?”

“Actually, I leave _this_ month. It’s June.”

“Oh. Wait, what?” You squinted blearily at the calendar above your desk. “Shit, it’s Wednesday?” You pulled your phone out of your pocket, which was supposed to remind you about the real world, and saw that it was dead. No wonder you were so hungry; you’d forgotten to eat. You sighed.

“Yeah, and you haven’t had sex with me since Thursday.”

Whining. You had a three year old as company. He set the ball off again and away they went. You debated throwing the desk toy away entirely. Or maybe you should just jump out the window. Then, vaguely, he muttered, “it’s _because_ I’m going to Mars that I’m here.”

“What?” You looked up fuzzily. Your coffee cup was empty, save for a patchy brown stain at the bottom, and NASA apparently did not have enough room in the multi-billion-dollar budget to afford decent beans.

“Are you going to miss me?”

“I…” you wanted to be prideful but was too tired for any witty comebacks. Slumping back into your chair, you relieved the crick in your neck and sighed. “Yeah, of course I will. You’re gone for half a year.”

“You don’t mind, though, do you?”

The question made you snort with laughter. “It’s a little late to be asking that. I’m pretty sure NASA’s not going to be all like, ‘you want out? Okay!’”

“ _Do you_?”

He reached forwards and laid a hand over yours. You let him curl his roughened fingers into yours and suddenly felt very afraid, because in less than a month’s time, you would be without his touch for a very long time. It was stupid, because you were a grown ass adult—and it was _doubly_ stupid, because you were one of the people who literally _wrote_ the manuals for the Ares missions. But you clung to him.

“I… I don’t mind at all. You’re doing something billions of people dream they could. It’s bigger than you or I.” You gave him a little squeeze, despite the fact that your heart was somewhere near your untied shoelaces. “You’re a man of science. The world’s hero. And I’m proud of you.”

“Well. Besides the fact that you won’t listen to my triple M pitch, and that you’re a horrible fucking liar—I love you. Don’t forget it.” He stood and you couldn’t help but reach after him, your heart fluttering anxiously.

“Where are you going, Wat—?”

“Mars, bitch!” he hooted, bringing the attention of your fellow labmates to your cubicle. Your cheeks flushed red as he sauntered away after pelvic thrusting, giggling like a three year old, and you lost the desire to call ‘love you too’ back.

You should’ve, probably. Might’ve been a good idea, seeing as he’d be declared dead as dicks in a couple of weeks.


	2. Chapter 2: "I'm Not Suspicious"

“Mother—!”

“Really, how long have you two been together? Has it been four years yet?”

“I don’t know… I can’t really remember. I wrote it down, somewhere…?”

“What do you mean you _don’t know_?! Oh, my lord… genius you may be—now, don’t get me wrong, your father and I are very proud of you and all your, er, certificates—”

“They’re not certificates, mom. I have a _doctorate_. Three of them! Two of them took me seven years to earn!” you interjected testily, through gritted teeth.

“Yes yes, those little pieces of paper, right. But honey… you know how long it took to write some thesis thingy, but you don’t even know how long you’ve been together with Mark? A failure! You’re a failure, then!”

“It doesn’t _matter_ —”

“Of course it matters, of course it does!” You winced as she shrilled. “This is what I’m trying to say! It’s high time you two got married; otherwise, you’ll be in this deadlock for years! Has he proposed? Shown any sign that he’s going to propose? Asked you questions about your ring size? When I was younger, your father would constantly be pestering me about what jewelry I was wearing—”

“ _Mother_!” you hissed into your phone, your hand clenching it so tightly that it might’ve shattered. “Just drop it! Whether or not I marry Watney is none of your _business_.”

“It _is_ my business if he’s going to be my son-in-law. And “ _Watney_ ”—my God! You don’t even call him by his first _name_ —”

“It’s just how we do it, okay? It’s our thing. Besides, we’re both professionals at work, so we just got used to it being that way. It feels _gross_ to call him ‘Mark’.”

“Ah yes, my two precious NASA doctors,” she said sarcastically. She sighed, sounding so tired that you felt a bit guilty for dragging her emotions around like this. “But you’re not at work right now, so can’t you call him Mark like a good wife?”

“I’m not his wife!”

“You’re not _whose_ wife?”

You gasped as he barged into the bathroom without the peep of a knock, his rust-coloured hair haphazard because of how he’d slept. He squinted in the bright lighting, pointing at you. 

“Who’re you talking to? It’s like, 3:30 in the fucking morning!”

“Nobody!” you whispered angrily, “shut up, Watney!”

“Who is that? Is that Mark? Let me talk to him, sweetheart—”

“You’ll do no such thing!” You hung up quickly before your mother could start screaming again and heaved a sigh. Mark stared down at you, rubbing his jaw, where stubble had already started to grow.

“Who was that?”

“Nobody,” you said again, preferring not to think about the topics your mother had brought up. Sure, you’d thought about it—why he hadn’t proposed, when your friends were getting married left and right—but you hadn’t cared enough to bring it up. You were both busy people and really; marriage was just a stunt to garner attention and envy. If he loved you, then that was good enough for you. Besides, what was the point of proposing now, when he’d just be lounging about on a different planet?

“You’re being suspicious,” he muttered in an accent from one of his shitty noir films, pointing with his finger. You swatted at it, and his voice returned to normal as he had a bright realization. “Oh, I know. Was it your mom?”

“I’m not suspicious!” you defended, getting up and off of the toilet seat while skirting the direct question. Then, “you should be asleep. Don’t you have debriefings for Ares III early in the morning?”

“I _should_ be asleep,” he agreed with an air of sarcastic jovialness, “if it weren’t for my loud ass girlfriend.” He sighed and shook his head, turning around. “Come on, let’s go back to bed.”

You stared at his broad, muscular shoulders and wondered. Your mother had probably called since he was going to be gone, soon. It was just settling in, how dangerous the Ares expedition was going to be. You were well versed in these dangers, having had to attend every single meeting NASA had decided to throw up about the ‘dangers of the Ares missions’. And there were a lot. You even wrote a PowerPoint for one of them. All of them had never ended on a good note. The next few days could very well be the last you saw of him. If the Hermes malfunctioned, he’d die. If the Hab blew up, he’d die. If his suit malfunctioned, he’d die. If the hostile Mars environment decided to just… well, just _be_ Mars, he’d die. Nobody had died on Mars yet, but there was always a first for everything.

“Mark,” you blurted out, wincing at the sound of his first name in your mouth. He stopped in the hallway and turned around.

“What?” he asked, still sounded irritable. When you said nothing, he pressed, “what is it?”

“It’s… nothing.” You flicked off the washroom light and followed after. You tossed your phone onto the nightstand (after setting it to silent) and crawled into bed. He lifted the blanket for you and you clambered back in, before getting crushed by Mark’s strong arms. “Watney?!” you yelped, your faced pressed so close to his chest that it was nearly impossible to speak. The familiar scent of his cologne engulfed you and the tension in your shoulders relaxed slightly.

“Why’d you call me Mark?” he murmured, his voice still hoarse with grogginess.

“I just…” Embarrassed, you said it quickly to get it over with. “Wanted to try it. Lemme go, will you?”

“You’re acting really weird,” he muttered, but heeded your wishes. You rolled away from him so that you faced the wall opposite, because despite the dark, he would’ve easily seen the blush on your cheeks.

“No I’m not,” you countered weakly, “go to bed.”

He snorted lightly, and the laugh was soon replaced with a snore. You turned so that you could look at him, and touched his back gently. You prodded him to be sure. He didn’t stir, and you sighed with exhausted relief.

“Night,” you muttered. “Love you... Mark.” You turned back onto your side and concentrated on getting to sleep, unaware of the smile on his face.


	3. Chapter 3: "I Don't"

There was another Ares III debriefing. As head coordinator of the Official NASA Program’s Botanist’s Manual, you were also required to be present, despite the fact that your job had been completed for years, now. You and Mark walked side by side, and you couldn’t help but notice the touches of purple under his eyes.

“Didn’t sleep well?” you asked stiffly, hiding the guilt behind a cough.

“Nope,” he said remorselessly, giving you a slight glare, “I wonder why. Must’ve been the squirrels or something, don’t you think?” 

You rolled your eyes slightly, feeling your cheeks warm with a bit of a blush. He was always too honest for his own good around you.

Before you could enter the auditorium, a voice called, “Dr. Watney?”

“Yes?” you and Mark both responded, turning at the same time. You both looked at each other. He sneered down at you, and with despair, you saw the delighted smugness come aglow on his face.

“He was obviously talking to me,” Mark said, very haughtily, “ _I’m_ the one blasting off to a different planet in a few weeks.”

“Well…” Unable to come up with something to top that, you scowled, defeated. He was probably right. The two of you had gone through this many times before. After all, it was difficult to know whom one was talking about when the two of you, with the same last name, held doctorates in the same field. But it was usually _Mark_ Watney, American hero headed to Mars, instead of _you_ Watney, a chick who was nothing but a glorified to-do list writer about plants. You turned again, about to show your ID to the guard to enter the auditorium when the man cleared his throat.

“No, I was uh, actually hoping to talk to _Miss_ Dr. Watney. Sorry.”

“…oh?” 

You turned back around to see Mark giving the other man a scathing look. The poor guy adjusted his thick-framed glasses uncomfortably. You tugged at Mark’s arm so that he didn’t offend anybody right before being flown off into a lifeless environment. You didn’t need to add karma to the list of things that could hit the fan.

“Go,” you whispered urgently, “you’ll probably have to report to Commander Lewis, too.”

He sighed through his nose slightly before giving you a probing stare. 

“You know this guy?” he asked, bending down so that he could whisper into your ear. You shook your head.

“No, I don’t,” you lied. “But he’s uh… probably from my department, to discuss the latest experiment with Piperaceae. Now hurry up, you’ll be late.”

He straightened and seemed like he wanted to say more. You raised an eyebrow expectantly, challenging him. Finally, he nodded wordlessly at you, casting another strained look over to the glasses-wearing fellow before walking off towards the auditorium. The hall was getting busy, now, with bustling doctors and congressmen alike, each discussing the upcoming Ares III expedition excitedly. You and the other man walked off to the side of the hallway, obscured by an indoor _Phoenix canariensis_.

“Oh, this _phoenix canariensis_ needs some water,” Washington noted, rubbing the palm frond in between his fingers. You shifted awkwardly in front of him. You’d lied to Watney, flat out—because you knew this guy a little better than you should’ve.

“Look, Dav—uh, Mr. Washington. What happened last week…” You shuddered, the memory flashing back in front of your mind’s eye like a bomb going off with extra guilt shrapnel packed into its heart.

_“I just can’t believe he’s going away without poppin’ the fuggin’ question!” you whined, swigging back the last of the beer and slamming the mug onto the table with so much force that it cracked, spilling the rest of your alcohol over the table. You hiccupped. “Oops.”_

_David Washington laughed awkwardly as you clung to his arm, your finger tracing his bicep, your face pressed to his shoulder, your leg wrapped around his. You’d invited the intern out for drinks so that you could forget your sorrows, as he had been the only one still around at such an ungodly hour… but the poor guy had done nothing but watch you drink your heart out._

_“Uh, you’re drunk, Dr. Watney—” he began nervously._

_“Yeah, less keep it that way. Come on, I’m sure you’d be better than the other Watney… Whaddayasay, big guy?”_

“Yeah, um, I was actually here to talk to you about that.” He pushed his glasses up his nose again, swiping a hand through his dark, overly groomed hair. You sucked in a breath, tightening your core to brace yourself for the words. Maybe you should close your eyes to lessen the blow, too. Right, that’d probably be best. You closed your eyes, waiting for him to berate you for being an irresponsible supervisor as well as a horrid girlfriend when there was a chorus of gasps. Your eyes shot open. What happened? You looked around before seeing that Washington had disappeared. Where had he—

“What the _fuck_?”

You heard Mark’s voice, but before you could turn to him, you found where Washington had gone. He’d knelt on the floor, balancing on a knee, and a sparkling diamond ring was thrust up into your face.

“Will you please marry me?” he yelped, as if the words had been strangled out of him. You stared down at the guy. Your neck creaked when you looked to Mark, whose jaw was slack, his expression frozen in one of disbelief.

As the famous expression goes: oh, shit!


	4. Chapter 4: "I'm Sorry"

“…and what the hell was that? You just stood there! You didn’t even say no, you just _left_!? What kind of person… agh! Fuck!”

You chewed on your lip absentmindedly as Mark yelled, his hand slapping angrily at the wheel in intermittent intervals. It was his way of relieving stress, these tantrums, and you just had to let it happen. Needless to say, the events following Washington’s sudden proposal had gone as such:

You ran away, hiding in the women’s washroom until the seminar was over.

The end!

And now you were sitting in the car with Mark, listening to him rant about how some stranger had just proposed to his girlfriend. You wished you could’ve ran away to hide—but [Exit, pursued by a bear] wasn’t going to end up well for you. 

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” you mumbled, not really hearing him. In all honesty, you had stopped listening to him an hour ago, your mind still on the sight of that glittering ring… you definitely didn’t think you wanted to be proposed to in public like that, ever again. Just the lasting memory was enough to mortify you. You cringed openly. What would your overseeing supervisors say? Hell, the office gossip alone was going to be enough to destroy your reputation and career. 

“…you knew him, and you lied to me.”

Mark’s voice took on a sudden, eerie calm that contrasted hard against his yelling. You jerked yourself out of your daze, forcing yourself to meet his blue eyes. They were hard, angry, and you shrunk back, feeling cold despite the blasting heat of Houston summer.

“It… it wasn’t anything. Just a fling,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. You couldn’t bear to face him and looked at your lap, your forehead throbbing with an oncoming migraine. “I don’t know why he tried to propose to me… but nothing’s going on between us. Um, not anymore.”

“So you’re saying that, as I’m about to leave for Mars… a very dangerous expedition that could get me _killed_ … you had an _affair_?”

“It was a one time thing!” you protested, immediately regretting the outburst as he glared at you. You shriveled away again, twiddling your thumbs like a kid being scolded for eating out of the cookie jar. “I was drunk…”

He scoffed, his fingers drumming on the dashboard. “Drunk,” he muttered spitefully, “How many other times did you have a ‘one time thing’ with that guy, saying that you were holed up in the lab? How many other nerds are there with rings out?”

“ _No_ other times,” you pleaded, “I was just drunk out of my mind, and you were completing the isolation exam…”

“Great. Just great. I have a girlfriend who sleeps around with other botany losers. I mean, he doesn’t even have a _doctorate_! He’s not as hot as me, either—what were you thinking?!” He started to yell again and you winced.

“I wasn’t!”

“You know what? Fine. Fine! You should’ve taken his fucking ring.” He glanced over at you and then shook his head, opening the car door. 

“What are you—where are you going?! Watney? Mark, wait!”

He stepped out and you scrambled after to follow, chasing him around the front of the car to grab his arm. He shook you off roughly, making you stumble backwards. He turned so that he could talk to you, but he kept you at an arm’s distance, even going so far as to back away from you.

“You should’ve taken his ring, because we’re _done_. I can’t go up there, thinking about you with other guys… no.” He shook his head. “We’re done.”

“What?!” you gasped, now truly afraid. “It was a _mistake_ , okay? I’m not saying it was right, but you’re breaking up with me because of _one_ —”

“Who knows if it’ll be just one? I’m not even going to be on this planet, soon enough! If you… _fucked_ somebody because I was gone for a _week_ , I have no idea what you’re going to do when I’m gone for a year.” He scoffed, running a hand through his hair, ruining the neat part. “No, I… I can’t think about that. I can’t do it. So we’re over. Pack your bags.”

He started to walk away from you, hands in his pockets, and you could only stare after him. Then, as if to add to the cruelty, somebody called, 

“Dr. Watney?”

“Yes?” you and he both said, turning, and your heart sank as he glowered icily at you.

“Er… _Mr._ Watney,” the flustered technician said, gripping her clipboard as she sensed the biting tension. “The Director would like to speak to the astronauts boarding the Ares III mission…?”

“Right,” he spat at you, pushing you aside and stalking away.

That was that.

“I’m sorry,” you said to the spot where he had been, rubbing the tears from your eyes.


	5. Chapter 5: "It's For the Best"

“It’s for the best” had become a recurring theme in your life.

“It’s for the best,” you told your parents, trying to placate your mother after telling her that you and Mark—no, you and Dr. Watney—had decided to separate. 

“I don’t understand. You two were so in love! What _happened_?”

 _Still am,_ you had thought glumly, throwing the last of your clothes into the cardboard box. He had another briefing with the flight directors and psychologists, so you were alone, and would be for a very long time now. 

“It’s for the best,” you had told his parents, after they called in a week later from Chicago, Illinois to ask what had happened. “We agreed that he needed to concentrate on the mission, so it’d be best if we just separated…”

“That doesn’t make any sense. Shouldn’t he _be_ thinking about getting back to you, and us here on Earth?”

 _Sure it does,_ you had thought irritably, staring down at the fifth cup of instant noodles you had eaten that week. But apparently, Mark did not want to think of you at all. So now you were forced to room up in the crappy NASA dorms, eating cup ramen, alone. David Washington had come to apologize for breaking apart your relationship, but you couldn’t even be mad at him. It was your fault in the first place. Of course, you steered clear of the intern, but even so, the damage was done.

Later, you turned your eyes to the sky, staring blankly at the white jet trail. Five months later, the Ares III mission landing was a success, and the 6 astronauts had made it to Mars safely. Your co-workers cheered and threw confetti in the air, but you could only smile weakly. You were happy for him, and humanity, of course. But it pained you to know that he would be returning without you in mind. He had made no attempt to contact you during his time in the _Hermes_ , which was purely transit time, and you had just… given up. He’d really left you behind, metaphorically as well as literally. All you could do was hope that, by December, he would be ready to forgive you… at the very least.

Which is why you were so angry to hear that Mark Watney was dead.

“That _fucker_!” you screamed, throwing your coffee mug to the floor, startling the teary-eyed people around you. Hot tears of your own welled in your eyes, spilling over, as you pointed at the memorial photo blown up on the big screen TV. He had always joked about his official photograph, pointing out his cowlick, and mocking his own regal expression.

_‘I look like I just took a shit, and was proud of it! Look everybody. My name’s Mark Watney, and I shit on Mars! Booyah!’_

“He died before I could even say sorry!” you ranted, sinking to the floor. Your co-workers patted you on the back soothingly, but you could only sob.

“What the _fuck_!” you screeched again, covering your face with your hands, knowing that the cry would never make it to him. “What the _fuck_ , Watney?!”

\---

You shifted uncomfortably. You hadn’t even wanted to come to his funeral, with things having gone the way they did before his departure. What were you even mourning, today, anyways? A fucking rock? His body was 50 million miles away, for God’s sake, and it would stay there forever. You weren’t a geologist. You weren’t even his girlfriend.

Your parents had been unable to come, as the funeral was closed to family and NASA officials, but that didn’t stop them from wanting to. You didn’t have the heart to remind them of yours and Mark’s unceremonious break-up. Now, your gut roiled when you saw his parents weeping on each other’s shoulders. They, to your surprise, were not angry with you. Even more surprisingly, they expressed more pity for you than they did for themselves.

“Mark could be so stubborn,” his mother said in between weak sobs, “I’m so, so sorry he wasn’t able to tell you that he didn’t mean it.”

“It… was for the best,” you said softly, turning your eyes to the sky. Mars was not visible at this hour, or time of month. And, even if it were, you wouldn’t be able to see anything. You wouldn’t be able to see… him. You frowned at the blue sky, turning your eyes back to his headstone. You hugged his mother gently and gave his father a pat on the back, reassuring them that you were fine, and expressed your grievances. The director of NASA had approached you earlier, and requested that you write up a eulogy, and now you had to deliver it in front of billions of audience members.

_“Dr. Watney?”_

_“Yes?” you replied, turning. You half expected Mark to tease you for doing so, but remembered that he’d never be doing that again, and frowned. You cleared your throat, rubbing sleep from your eyes, and shook the man’s extended hand, mentally apologizing for smearing cow shit across his manicure._

_“Teddy Sanders,” he introduced, wiping his hand on his pant leg. “You were listed as Mark’s emergency contact. I’m very sorry for your loss.”_

_“Sure,” you replied robotically, “I am too.” It had become automatic, now. You were sure that Mark had just forgotten to take you off as his emergency contact, and was even more depressed with the knowledge that he would never be able to._

_“It must be hard, losing your husband…”_

_“Oh, no, we’re not married. We just share the same last name, that’s all. Funny, right?” You explained it to him for what seemed like the billionth time, even adding in silly hand gestures to make it seem like you weren’t talking about the death of the person you loved most. He blinked at you, raising an eyebrow._

_“I… see. My apologies. Then, you were his… sister?”_

_“Girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend. Ex-ex, since he died while we were exes…”_

_The conversation was just getting worse and worse._

_“Right. Okay. Um, so, I have to ask if you would like to make a speech at his funeral…”_

So, after being introduced as the Botanical Director of the Ares Missions (instead of his wife, for which you were eternally glad), you spouted some bullshit about how he was a great man, and how his death would be mourned, but would not prevent humanity from moving forwards. Really, you were just regurgitating what Director Sanders had said earlier, because you didn’t trust yourself to say anything else. You’d already run the eulogy past the PR director, to make sure you didn’t call Watney a dickhead on live television, and managed to get to the end without fucking up. Finally, you took a deep breath. Your voice shook. 

“And… I am sure that the rest of the world will agree with me… we loved Dr. Mark Watney dearly. And we wish the best for him… as well as the best for the number of people he has inspired. Men are made of stardust, and we’ll miss him great… greatly.”

You sprinted off stage before you could burst out into tears on international television. No way were you going to be made fun of as ‘stupid crying girl’ in the Indian tabloids.

And then you went home. It was for the best, you reasoned. He wouldn’t have wanted you crying at his grave. He probably wouldn’t have wanted you there at all. Hell, he would’ve made fun of your eulogy, too. For once, you wished that he _was_ making fun of you… and then you shook your head powerfully, to force the desire away.

“It’s for the best,” you lied to yourself, over and over, wiping tears from your cheeks. “It’s for… the best…”

\---

**Sol 13**   


Mark had been living alone on a barren wasteland for a pretty long time, now. His wound had healed well enough for somebody with little to no medical attention. Yeah, the staple fell out a couple of times, and he might’ve passed out once or twice, but it was no big deal! He’d seen enough Grey’s Anatomy to pull through. He was able to start working on surviving, and although he needed to move like an old man, it was progress nonetheless.

The worst part was probably the lack of contact with Earth. Everybody would think he was dead, and he very well would be soon enough if he didn’t find a way to get in touch with those nerds at NASA. He paused for a second, chewing his lip, and looked out the small window of the Hab. Earth was visible from this angle, just over the horizon, but only barely. Earth: home to all known life was just a tiny white speck in the starry sky.

He wondered if you’d think he was dead. He scoffed to himself and lay back down, groaning slightly as his scar stretched. Of course you’d think he was dead. His parents would, and so would _your_ parents… with a jolt he remembered that your parents might not care. Scratch that, why should they? After all, he was the deadbeat boyfriend who had broken up with you. 

At the time he had thought it would be for the best. He was too, too stupidly in love with you, and his heart had practically blown to bits when you’d admitted to the ‘thing’ with that scrawny intern. If he even _thought_ about you being with somebody else, he might’ve actually cried. A grown man, crying over a girl. In his defense, you had actually done him wrong. But he was pretty sure he had fucked up more by breaking things off with you like that. He sure would’ve liked to say goodbye before getting bent over and rawed by a big red rock. 

He’d been thinking about you a lot, lately. On the _Hermes_ the crew had known to steer clear of that topic around him, but the ship was tiny and echoed, and he could hear them wonder about that ex-girlfriend of his. The one that shared his name.

Dr. Watney. You and he had always turned at the same time. His nose wrinkled when he remembered that scrawny botany intern’s face. The look on yours when the kid had proposed out of the blue. You hadn’t been totally horrified or disgusted… you’d been wondrous. Curious. The way your geeky, dirt streaked face looked when you were looking at plant samples. He knew because he looked the same way when _he_ looked at plant samples. When he looked at you. Something about that moment had made you pause and think. 

He grunted slightly and got up, flicking on a lamp. Despite having told himself that it would be the best thing for him if he just forgot about you completely, he was a sentimentalist, and had kept your picture with him for the flight. It was sappy, yeah, but it had gotten him through the first few Sols. It had been taken when you and he had gone on an expedition in the Swiss Alps for a research project concerning water purities with certain flora. Nerdy, yeah, but at least he hadn’t met you at a Star Trek con. That was where he had first asked you to be his girlfriend, and you’d said no, right to his face. He had persisted, and out of sheer annoyance, you had agreed to let him buy you a beer… his heart jittered slightly in his chest as he saw your younger self smile cheekily up at him, and his side ached. 

He wasn’t going to die here. He still had to make it up to you.

Just as soon as he stopped bleeding. Carefully, he tacked the photo back onto the wall, and hobbled out of bed to find more vicodin. He stopped at another window in the Hab canvas and looked back to Earth.

“I’m coming back whether you like it or not,” he said through gritted teeth, as if thinking it extra, extra hard would get the message to you. “So you better not be crying at my funeral. And if your eulogy sucks, I’m going to hold that to you forever. Got it, Dr. Watney?!”

\---

You woke, startled, in a cold sweat. The bed was cold without another body beside you, and you could’ve sworn you were dreaming about him. 

“Damn,” you muttered to yourself, closing your eyes again. “Dammit… 

I miss him.”


	6. Chapter 6: "I Understand"

“Um, Dr. Watney?”

You started, waking yourself up with the shock of hearing a voice so close your ear. It was so surprising that you flailed, finally falling out of your chair with a loud yelp, thump, and sore right ass cheek.

“Oh, oh man. Sorry! Oh my god, are you okay?”

“Fine,” you mumbled, crawling to your feet and pulling yourself up. Your butt bones stung with impact, but you ignored it. You wiped your oily face with the sleeve of your lab coat and squinted at the girl in front of you. Was she from botany? She didn’t look like one of you plant nerds, and she didn’t even look like she was from the biological science sector at all. “Um… do you need something?”

“You’re Mark Watney’s wife, right?”

“No,” you corrected automatically, without even thinking about it, “I was his ex-girlfriend.”

Was. The word jolted you out of your half-awake stupor and you bit down on your lip. The girl didn’t seem to notice and instead, helped pick a stray dead leaf off of your arm.

“Oh, okay. I see… sorry again. Well, either way, I saw that you were listed as his emergency contact. I’m Mindy Park. SatCon.”

“SatCon?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow blearily, shaking her hand limply. “What’re you doing in Botany…? Oh, are you lost? The exit is over—”

“I’m here to tell you that Mark Watney is still alive.”

You laughed, unable to do anything else or reply in a normal fashion. She stared at you strangely while you chortled heartily, as if she’d told you a really good joke. And you supposed that ‘Mark Watney’s alive; surprise, hoe!’ was a pretty good one.

“Right, okay. I’m still asleep then. Yikes, I’m even hallucinating weird kids from SatCon…? I really need to get some coffee—”

“You’re not hallucinating, Dr. Watney,” she said excitedly. “He’s really alive. I have proof, from satellite images.”

You stared at her, and she started to look uncomfortable. She looked _really_ uncomfortable when you reached out to touch her face. Soft flesh. You poked her teeth. Real ones. Not a hallucination then.

“I’m gonna go get that coffee,” you said slowly with a nod, “and then we can talk.”

\---

“Dr. Watney?”

“Yes.” You stood hastily, having tried to clean yourself up after spending 49 hours in the lab.

“Venkat Kapoor. Good to see you again.”

You shook his hand appreciatively. As Director of the Mars missions, you had interacted with him a few times before, in order to discuss to mission operatives and objectives. He was also the only one in the past three hours who had not mistaken you to be Mark’s wife.

“Big news, huh?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, looking up at the two stills. They were plastered across the big screen. _The_ screen. The Big News screen. The screen that had pictured Apollo 13 crashing along with the success of Hermes launches. It was the ‘Oh shit, we fucked up!’ screen and the ‘Oh shit, we made it!’ screen. You looked to Venkat. “It’s some pretty big news all right.”

“We’ll need to establish communication with him. I don’t know how that man did it, but he’s alive, and we’re going to get him back.” Venkat’s voice was soft, but you were busy staring back at the two pictures, your lip bleeding with how hard you were biting it.

“He’s a smart guy,” you muttered, almost to yourself. “He’ll figure it out. He’s going to figure it out. He’s a smartass, he’s kind of a jerk, and he’s a stubborn motherfucker, but at least he’s smart. He’ll figure it out, I’m sure of it.”

“When he does, I think you should be there when we make first contact.”

You stared at him. “M-me? Why me?”

He smiled wryly at you, turning his own gaze up to the satellite images.

“I think you know why, Dr. Watney.”

You looked to the Rover’s trail marks as well, its image swimming with tears. You swiped at them hastily.

“He’s going to figure it out,” you said again, weakly, as if putting the words out into the world would give it a higher chance of coming true. Venkat nodded sympathetically, patting you on the back firmly.

“Yes, he will.”

\---

“Another transmission!”

You straightened in your seat as the techs crowded around the computer screen. You held your breath as they stared at the screen, obscuring it from your view despite your intense gold medal neck craning. The computer whirred and chugged as if it were breathing hard with exertion. Then, everybody sighed in relief, high-fiving. You grinned, too. You couldn’t even be in the room for the first one, having had to leave to sit and cry and breathe and think. Venkat clapped you on the shoulder.

“Alive and well,” he told you with a wink.

Alive. _Alive_. Healthy, too? You were still trying to absorb this fact. He wasn’t dead. Mark wasn’t dead… and it didn’t even matter if he still hated you or not, because he was alive! You had given up on him, that much you’d admit. But his stubborn ass just _had_ to prove you wrong, as always, and for once, you were glad. You rubbed happy tears from your eyes, clasping your shaky hands together in an attempt to restrain your joy.

“Oh, Dr. Watney! Look, he wrote something for you. I think it’s some sorta code, though.”

“What? He did?” You sprang to your feet, practically knocking aside an engineer in your hurry. The kid sitting down pointed a finger at the bottom line. Mark’s handwriting had always been atrocious, and you had to read it several times before being able to comprehend it.

**Dr. W: I’m bringing back a space rock. You better say yes instead of running, this time. Swiss alps sound good?**

“Do you get it?” the kid asked, looking up at you.

“Yeah, I understand,” you replied agreeably. Then you paused. “No, I don’t. What the fuck does he mean? Are you sure that’s what it says?” You squinted at the screen, grabbing it with both hands, making sure that what you were reading was what he had wrote. 

“Sure as can be with this ancient junk. Space rock? What kind of guy is alone on a giant space rock and thinks about bringing home space rocks? Especially when he might di—ahem. And what are _you_ supposed to say yes to? He’s talking about mountains, too? This guy must be insane—er, no offense, Doctor.”

“None taken,” you mumbled, furrowing your brow. Say yes? Run? Mountains?

Then, you remembered a certain incident with a certain Mr. David Washington. And you remembered when he’d cockily sauntered up to you, a bouquet of ant-infested dandelions in his hand as he asked you out on a date in the Swiss Alps. 

“Oh, fuck you,” you growled once it clicked, pushing yourself away from the computer. You ran a hand through your knotted hair, covering your face and sitting back down. There was confused chattering around you, but you kept your face covered, taking deep breaths.

“What? What did he say?” Venkat asked, bewildered.

“He’s asking me to _marry_ him,” you replied in a muffled voice after a long while. “On a sign, with a camera that was built in the 90s… 50 million miles away… with a fucking _space rock_. I hate him. Oh my god, I hate him. He should just stay on Mars.”

Silence.

“Oh! Rock, like diamond! I get it now,” the computer technician chimed, to a silent room. “Um… congratulations?”

“Thanks,” you said, giving him a sarcastic thumbs up before passing out.

“W-water! Let’s get some water for her!”

When you came back to, the communications had shifted entirely to life support for him, his mention of engagement and marriage and other idiot things totally lost. But _you_ still remembered, and you closed your eyes.

“Get your ass back here so I can kick it myself,” you breathed, as if he could hear you. “Or so help me, I’ll fly over to Mars and do it.”

50 million miles away, Mark was grinning.


	7. Chapter 7: "It's True"

You weren’t very good with computers. There was a reason you had gone into botany and biological sciences. It was because you had failed every single test and quiz in the computer science course that had been offered to you. Excel might as well have been Excalibur and you were already lucky if you could get your phone to open for you. Your expertise with plants was, unfortunately, very unhelpful in this situation. Until they needed you to explain the mechanics of water absorption, you were a waste of space, and sat awkwardly. You could do nothing but wait and let the NASA nerds help Watney hack into the rover, until suddenly,

“It worked! We have contact!”

You sighed as Venkat cheered. You hadn’t wanted to get your hopes up, but your heart was racing and your hands were shaking with relief. He stood and started clearing people out of the way.

“Move people, move! What’s he saying?”

You couldn’t help but watch with disbelief as text scrolled across the screen in Courier 11. Mark always printed out his documents in Comic Sans to mess with the brass at NASA, and it seemed like you were talking to somebody else entirely. After all, people on the Internet can turn out to be 61 year old pervs named Jim despite their screen personas.

“Please don't be a 61 year old perv named Jim,” you blurted out suddenly, your knees giving way. Somebody slid an office chair underneath you and you clung to the armrests, staring hard at the computer screen. You realized people were looking at you and cleared your throat. “Oh. Sorry. Nevermind me, carry on…”

“D’you want to send him something?” Venkat asked softly, a smile on his face. Your eyebrows shot up to the moon.

“M-me? Oh, shouldn’t you guys be like, sending him all these NASA smartypants codes for getting off of Mars and stuff? I’m not that important—”

“Doctor Watney. Doctor _Mark_ Watney is on an entirely different planet, alone, and in who knows what kind of shape. I think you’re kind of important to him.”

“Okay then,” you said, your voice reedy with panic, making you sound fourteen again. “Well… what should I say?”

He shrugged. “I can’t tell you what to tell him. But uh, keep it appropriate. No…”

“Messages a creepy 61 year old perv would send. Gotcha’.” You scooted up to the keyboard, people parting left and right from you like a smelly red sea of tired IT techs. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard.

“So I just type something and hit enter, right?” you asked frantically, turning to look at the guy on your left. “Because I’m shit at technology and I really don’t want to break this set-up you’ve got going on. It seems kind of important, y’know?”

“You type and hit enter,” Venkat agreed, enunciating clearly while squeezing your shoulder reassuringly. You took a deep breath.

“Because of the travel time, you’ll have to wait 13 minutes between messages,” a tech mentioned, chiming in. “So you should say what you want in one go.”

“One go… okay…”

**[00:13] JPL: MARK!! WATNEY!! I HATE YOU!!!!!!!!**

“That’s… all you’re going to say?” Venkat asked, frowning at your message. “You know this is going to be published…” he gestured. “Worldwide in a few hours?”

You nodded, wiping sweat off of your brow.

“Yep. All I want to say in one go. Because I hate him. I really do! Like, I hate him so much that I love him…” You realized you were sobbing. Not even crying or like, cute-girl-in-love-puppy-crying, you were ugly crying. Full on water works. You wanted to kick yourself in the face or send yourself up to Mars by yourself, fully aware of the eyes on you. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I’m such a mess…”

“You hate him,” a guy said on your right, so skeptical that you could basically taste the smug know-it-all grin on his face. “ _Sure_.”

“It’s _true_!” you wailed, rounding on him snottily. “I was a successful scientist, sure, but I’m a freaking loser! I didn’t think he’d _fall_ for me and I didn’t think that I’d love—I mean, I didn’t think that I’d hate him! Because I don’t love him. He left me, and then he left Earth, and then for a while he left the living realm and now he’s back and he asked to marry me with a stupid fucking _space rock_ —”

“New message!” Venkat interrupted hastily with visible relief as somebody shoved tissues into your hands. You wiped the tears from your eyes before looking, slowly, afraid to see what was up there.

**[00:26] WATNEY: I love you too, Dr. Watney.**

“I hate him!” you screeched.

\---

He’d asked you not to run, and although you were pretty much sedentary, you were very good at running from your responsibilities. You could’ve won gold! When he was successfully retrieved into the Hermes, you weren’t at mission control, cheering with them. When he was on the way back, you neglected to be at your computer. When your parents called; when _his_ parents called, you weren’t at your phone. You reasoned this with shitty justification like _well, he wants to talk to his parents first, not me: the cheating bitch_ or _this plant sample is of utmost importance. I can’t step away from watching it grow at the red hot pace of 1 mm per year, I’ll miss something more important than reuniting with my once-dead ex-boyfriend maybe-fiancé!_. 

You were thinking too hard. It kept popping up wherever you were. When the guy at Subway asked if you wanted extra mayo, you had to walk away, unable to bear saying ‘I do’.

Did you want to marry Mark? The answer was that you really did. Fuck, you just wanted to _see_ him again, and that would’ve been enough. But you were selfish. You wanted him to be in your life until you died. But did _he_ want _you_? Could you slip up and hurt him again? That was something you refused to do. You loved him too much to see him that angry and betrayed again.

So you were conveniently not at the places you should’ve been. And when Earth’s most prized astronaut touched down on Earth, you wished you could’ve been floating around in the Kuiper belt to avoid him.

\---

“Wake up, sleepy-head.”

You jolted upright as somebody kicked your desk, disturbing you from a very peaceful sleep. A crinkled bag of McDonalds landed by your head as you rubbed your eyes groggily, squinting up at the person who dared interrupt your slumber. There were only a few people dumb enough to. Your mother, God, and…

Mark Watney.

He chewed on a chicken nugget with a crooked, absent-minded grin as he settled in the chair by yours. He pointed it at you. “Missed McDonalds on Mars. Hah! How about _that_ alliteration? I can’t eat fries though. Never again.”

“You’re… you’re back! Here! At… NASA… in my office…” you trailed off stupidly, staring at him, wondering if you’d finally cracked and gone mental for realsies. 

“Yup.” He swallowed, burping carelessly. “You’ve been avoiding me when I was out in space, so now I’m in _your_ space. Boom. What you gon’ do?”

“I… am going to run away.” You stood up stiffly but he beat you to it, grabbing your wrist and yanking you back into your seat. You couldn’t meet his eyes, staring hard into your lap.

“You look tired. Have you been living in your office all this time? Man, it’s been over a year. You haven’t changed.”

“Yeah, I know,” you said flatly, emotionally numb as you reeled to comprehend what was happening. “You kicked me out and you died and then you came back. Also, one of my experiments died. Really tragic. Hell of a year. I couldn’t forget.”

“You… are salty. Saltier than these nuggets.” He gestured one at you and it flopped around sadly. “You really haven’t changed a bit. I thought you might’ve, up there—for a couple of days I forgot what you looked like, and you’re way uglier than I remembered. Sheesh, woman.”

“Watney…”

“D’you know why I want you to say yes?” he said abruptly, looking away from you. He threw the nugget up in the air and caught it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he spoke. Your eyes flicked over him. He was a lot healthier than he had been crawling out of the Hermes (you hadn’t been able to conveniently avoid coverage of the event, as it had been anywhere and everywhere) but you reminded yourself that you had already agreed to letting him go, and tried to forget how much you had missed seeing his face. 

“Watney—” you tried again, ignoring what he’d said. 

“Because I almost died,” he interjected, ignoring you back. “When that probe hit me, I was pretty darn dead. And then I could’ve died a million other times. But I didn’t! I’m still alive.”

“So I can tell,” you said dryly, his hand still on your wrist.

“And I don’t know why I’m alive. I’m an atheist, so I doubt God’s giving me a high-five over these freebies, so that just leaves me to coincidence and Lady Fortune. I’m a lucky guy. You know why else I’m lucky? Because… in a tiny box office in NASA’s botany department, there’s a nerd sitting here, always asleep because she never sleeps properly. That nerd tells me she hates me and tells me she doesn’t want any part of me, but I’m Mark Watney, superstar supernova. Who doesn’t want me?” He flashed a grin and you glowered back.

“Mark… I do hate you. I don’t want any part of you. You’re just telling me what I already know—”

“No no no,” he said, sticking his finger over your mouth to physically shut you up. It tasted of grease. He shook his head good-humouredly. “See, wives don’t lie like that.”

“Eyfm not—” You pushed his hand away, tears rolling down your cheeks. “I-I’m not… It’s true… so just—just leave me and be happy and be the superstar that came back from Mars without me already—”

“Listen,” he said forcefully, leaving you to blubber silently. His voice softened and his hand came lower, cradling your head. “I’ve missed every season of my favourite show. All my teams lost, which makes me feel as if I _should’ve_ just gone and died on Mars. I haven’t eaten pizza in a year. I haven’t had _sex_ in a year. And I haven’t seen _you_ in a year.” The hand that you’d slapped away came back, now cupping your cheeks, his thumbs delicately brushing tears from your eyes. “You don’t know what it’s like to be totally alone. I was… there was nobody on that planet but me. And I almost went insane. But I had you there. I had you up there with me. And you can tell me that you hate me all you want, but I love you, and that’s not going to change.”

“You’re serious,” you realized, your voice hoarse as it broke under the strain of your emotions. You’d tried to shut them all away, but they crashed through at the familiar feel of Mark’s weathered hands. You couldn’t hallucinate this. It was too real. His grin was a little less smarmy and he nodded.

“I had to ditch the space rock ring, since they got me to fly into space in a box with a tarp. But I’ve got something better!”

He reached for the McDonalds take out bag he’d thrown at you earlier and fished out a tiny black box. Opening it, he slid the diamond ring across your desk, a wry smile on his face.

“Marry me.”

“I—but—wait.” You stood up and turned away, putting your hands on your hips. You whirled around. “I’m Dr. Watney, but you’re _Dr. Watney_. You’re… you came back from Mars. You were dead. But you’re not? You survived _alone_. The whole world loves you. And you’re asking _me_ , a lame plant nerd, to marry _you_.”

“Yep.”

“‘Y-yep’?! That’s all you have to say?!”

“Yep.” He was still sitting cross-legged and his foot bounced as he smiled innocently up at you. “Marry me. It’ll be easy. You won’t even have to change your last name or anything.”

“I cannot believe you,” you ranted as he got up. “I hate you. You know that? Mark Watney, I hate you more than words can express!”

He slid the ring onto your finger easily as you complained, nodding distantly. “Yep, sure you do. Go on, say you hate me one more time.”

“It’s true! I hate you—” you sobbed. “I hate—oh my god, Mark, I missed you so _fucking much_!”

“There we go!” he said with a little laugh as you fell against him, crying openly. You were doing too much of this crying thing, and you hated Mark for doing it to you. You hated him because you had the world loving him, when you wanted to be the only one loving him. You hated him because he’d hurt you so badly, and you hated him because he’d made you fall in love with him so hard.

“It’s true,” you hiccupped as the last sobs died down. His arms were strong and secure against you, a bit thinner than before but his all the same. His fingers tangled in the roots of your unwashed hair. “I really hate you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Yeah… I hate you for it, but… ugh. Fine. I love you too.”

The truth was sweet in your mouth and you closed your eyes, leaning into your hug with him, the ring warm on your finger. No matter how many lies you told him, he saw right through you, and nothing seemed to matter except for the fact that he was here. 

Pumpkins and burnt pants had nothing on you now.

**Author's Note:**

> Elsewhere: https://goo.gl/iG2o2C


End file.
